


A Lifetime Past

by MiHnn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Family, Gen, House Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Post Season/Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/pseuds/MiHnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not how she expected to see him after years of being apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lifetime Past

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiafkinkmeme.
> 
> Prompt: When Arya finally sees Jon again, he is holding their dead sister in his arms.

The tale of the great battle reaches her ears before it is done. She is a simple serving girl, a young, pretty face that smiles easily as she speaks with the men of the local tavern. They do not know of the dagger that is strapped to the hidden leather tied across her thigh, or the bottle of Tears of Lys that is in a pouch that should contain water.  
  
It is a young boy, an armourer’s apprentice, who runs through the doors of the tavern with the panicked words of impending war escaping his lips. She stays still as the tavern erupts with sound, some drawing their swords, others running like craverns. She calmly draws her dagger and gives the man she stands behind the gift, watching him crumple to the floor as the air leaves his chest while the blood pools around him. Many run over him, none pay his lifeless form any heed.  
  
She moves swiftly, quiet as a shadow, as she makes her way to the Red Keep, the news of a Dragon Queen and her Black Knight following her. There is one more gift to be given; her dagger must be drawn once more before she is to leave Westeros and seek a ship to Braavos.  
  
All around her is the sound of steel hitting steel and the sound of panicked cries begging to be saved. Arya heeds them no mind. Quick as a snake, she moves towards the castle, climbing on walls and jumping through windows, hiding in plain sight as an army with differently dressed men attempt to take over the city of the kings.  
  
Her movements are quick and practiced, silent and deadly, and when she finally comes upon the Red Keep, she pulls the dagger from under her skirts as she hunts the man whose name the Kindly Man has spoken to her. She kills four guards on her way to the private chambers, three of the foreign force and one member of the King’s Guard. She then wipes her blade meticulously on her skirts, uncaring that it now holds a large red stain.  
  
The sound of a fight draws her back as she enters a large alcove, her back hitting the wall and her hand tightening around her dagger as she waits before one falls with a grunt. The clash of steel on the marble floor tells her that there is a winner. She leans forward, her ears straining for any sound as her eyes adjust to the dark hall brightened only by a few fiery torches.  
  
What she sees is a face from her past, hard and weathered, younger and older. Her eyes widen as she remembers feather light kisses on her brow and a stern, yet amused lecture that was later forgotten. He gifted her a horse. He protected her from her mother’s anger.  
  
He was beheaded right before her, yelled at as a traitor by those who didn’t know how noble he truly was.  
  
But, the man kneeling before her, wrapped in black is much younger than the man she thought of.  
  
She steps forward, her arms falling beside her as she moves towards him.  
  
His face is just as sullen as her father’s once was, this brother who used to laugh with Robb and herself. He gifted her needle. He used to pick her up, twirl her around and ruffle her hair. Now, he looks down, holding someone in a costly gown, expensive threads embroidered in the most luxurious of silks.  
  
He doesn’t move as she steps forward, not until she stands before him.  
  
He looks up, his eyes empty, defeated, and only then does she notice the dead guard by his side. The floor is coloured crimson and the guard is not the only one who lies lifeless in a pool of blood.  
  
The woman's hair is no longer red, but dark, yet her eyes, staring lifeless makes her look more like their mother than Arya ever thought possible.  
  
She does not breathe for a moment. She stares at the scene, but she does not understand.  
  
“Leave,” he says hoarsely, his fingers tightening around his charge, bringing her lifeless body closer to him so he can lay her head on his lap. He picks up his sword, his eyes deadly and unforgiving.  
  
With a pang she realises that he does not see her true face. She kneels on the other side of her sister, her head ducking briefly before she lifts her head to see him. Steel meets her throat, and then he simply stares at her.  
  
“Arya,” he breathes, dropping his sword before reaching for her. She smiles briefly, because even after so many years, he recognises her instantly.  
  
She does not notice the tears falling from her eyes until they warm her cheeks, her throat closing as she chokes out, “Jon.” It hurts, she thinks, as she flings herself onto her dead sister, her arms wrapping around her brother as he chants her name over and over. It hurts to hear her name. It hurts to remember what she once was. It hurts because she has lost so much and now she has lost one more.  
  
“I tried,” he breathes into her hair. “I tried to protect her. She was a prisoner.” His voice hardens, becoming softer. “I didn’t know.” She doesn’t blame him, but pulls him closer. Her fingers tighten around him as his arms tighten around her, as they sit there in a pool of blood, their bodies separated by the one Stark that was so pure, that she should have been the one to survive.  
  
 _I found you_ , she thinks madly as she buries her face in his chest. _At least I have you_ , she whispers under her breath, crying wantonly against him. His fingers tangle in her hair as he continues to whisper her name as if she is but a mere dream that will be taken from him. Her fingers tighten around him further, bruising him as he is bruising her.

Her sister lies dead, just as her father, her mother, and the rest of her brothers, but...  
  
She is finally with the last of her pack.  
  
She is finally with her last surviving brother.  
  
With her Jon.


End file.
